


Sometimes Love Isn't Enough

by HkHk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anya Lives, Clarke blows up her ship, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, More tags to be added, Raven is not going to be happy, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HkHk/pseuds/HkHk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Log date 2149.09.13<br/>Just settled in orbit. This might be the planet we're looking for. </p><p>Log date 2149.09.15<br/>It has been two days since I crash landed on this planet. I sighted what appeared to be a satellite dish on top of a mountain. I may be able to use it to strengthen my distress signal. I can't wait to go home.</p><p>Log date 2150.01.01<br/>I think I love her. Am I making a mistake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Log date 2149.09.15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any landing you can walk away from, is a good one.

Clarke ran her hand through her messy greasy hair and groaned. "Noooo-" She moaned, resisting the urge to tear her hair out. She stared sullenly at her ship. 

Various bits of it sparked periodically. 

Her Glorious class cruiser looked as if she attempted to play chicken with a mountain. Which she did. The blue and gold paint along the side was practically scrapped off, there was more dent than there was ship and it was still smoking as if to spite her. It used to be on _fire._  

Raven was going to kill her. 

"Think Clarke. Think. You're alive. You have your supplies. You can jury rig a distress signal and wait for the Ark to come pick you up." While she spoke, pacing slightly, Clarke dragged her fingers through her hair. "You're going to get grounded for a few years, never fly again-" 

The normally abnormally quiet forest quivered, leaves rustling, ominously- 

Clarke glared at the trees. "Why not a desert planet? Why one full of animals that will eat me?" Why one full of trees? 

She really should stop talking to herself. By her count, she had two week's worth of rations, a water purifier, emergency equipment and a pistol. Baring anything too terrible, she should be able to make the trek up the mountain where she had spotted what appeared to be a satellite dish. She could use it to bounce her distress signal. It was a plan. 

One step at a time Clarke.

Firstly, do not light the forest on fire. Clarke pulled the power source out, carefully, gloves on. Then she buried it. Carefully. Judging by the lack of radio traffic, there wasn't an advanced species on the planet and if they were to find her ship they probably wouldn't be able to blow themselves up. But it was best to be safe. She buried it a few yards away, wrapped in plastic. Then she pushed the ship into the nearby lake. Well, she pulled everything out she needed to survive in the unforgiving wilderness and then shoved it back into the lake. It was already halfway in the lake, she just gave it a little nudge. 

Hopefully Raven wouldn't kill her. 

The rations were shoved into a bag, along with the hand held purifier, the collapsible bowl and the heat blanket. The pistol was strapped to her hip, holstered and secured with straps. The straps shifted against her pants, making the odd crinkling sound every so often when she shifted her hips. The weight felt alien against her thigh. She trained with it but never used it. Hopefully she wouldn't have to use it. 

The branches rustled. 

Clarke stared at the rustling branches, her hand drifting to her pistol. A strange creature appeared, brown hair with luminous eyes. It stared back at her before darting away. She let out a quiet sound of relief before stepping off. The sooner she got to the top of the mountain, the better. 

* * *

 

Anya cocked her head as she watched the sky person march off towards the Mountain. Her warriors melted from the shadows as she gave a wordless command. She had seen the screaming rock from the sky as it ripped through, bringing with it fire and debris. It had taken her two days to cross the distance even when pushing everyone to their limits. They had to claim it first before anyone else did. Ice Nation was getting more and more belligerent, pushing and testing their boundaries. A rock falling from the sky would be risk enough to travel into Wood's territory.

Certainly worth the risk. There was a girl. Much like herself but more like Lexa. Younger like Lexa. Dressed in strange clothes in colors that were lost to time. She was a child of the sky. 

She summoned a runner with a message to be delivered to Polis. For now, she will watch. But it would be dangerous. The closer the girl got to the Mountain, the more danger her people would be in. But it would be remiss of her to let the sky girl be swallowed up by the Mountain. Around her, her warriors begin dragging up the metal husk. 

Tris, her Second, appeared by her elbow. "Follow her." Anya said quietly. "I will join you later." 

Her Second nodded, a single jerk of her chin. Then Tris vanished into the undergrowth.

It would take days to traverse the forests to get to the Mountain. If one doesn't die first. Be it from Reapers or acid fog or one of the Mountain Men. What was the sky girl's purpose? Did the Mountain Men call her down? Could they call others? Anya felt a brief flicker of horror, of flaming rocks from the sky destroying villagers and killing her people. Of people dying in fire, hundreds of them, crying out in fear and pain and-

But that didn't happen. It went past the village and slammed into the lake. No one died. 

Yet, Anya couldn't help but feel as if she had been through this before. Grief fluttered at the edges of her mind. This could have ended in tears. But the rock didn't fall into one of the numerous villages. It screamed in the air, screeching like some bird of prey but louder, and it skimmed the tops of the tree tops as if searching for a safe place to land. With a startling revelation, Anya realized that the girl must of guided it. Whatever it was. 

It looked like a sad excuse of a bird, the wings bent out of the shape, the nose collapsed in. 

She placed her hand on the cold metal. It gleamed in the light unlike a blade but made of the same shimmering metal. She tapped the clear glass, a remnant of the time before. Colored glass was common and rare at the same time. It could be made but those who can make them were rare. And glass like this? So clear and yet so strong? Anya tapped the glass with the hilt of her knife. How strong would it be? Could she break it?

Anya backed up as her warriors began to uncoil rope, throwing it over the metal bird. 

She turned and considered the massive Mountain that represented so much danger and death to her people. Tris could take care of herself.

She wouldn't be a worthy Second if she couldn't.

Yet, Anya couldn't help but have feelings of misgivings. Nothing good comes from the Mountain. People have vanished or worse, became Reapers. 

Tris could take care of herself. 

 

 


	2. Log date 2149.09.15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Log date 2149.09.15
> 
> Have I mentioned how much I hate wilderness?

Clarke slid from under her Glorious class cruiser, sitting up sharply. "What happened?" 

Octavia Blake was the picture of contrition. "Nothing." 

Raven, from her perch in the cockpit, shouted. "Bullshit." 

"Okay, okay. Nothing I didn't do." Octavia spread her hands in a placating manner. "Well, nothing I did warranted the punishment." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. Clarke, do I look like a person who would help rig the vents with jam so that in the event Chancellor Jaha walked by it would drip onto his balding head?" 

"That is oddly specific for someone who claims to not have been involved." 

"Would you believe me if I said I heard it from Jasper who heard it from Murpy who heard it from Finn?" 

Clarke made a show of consideration before replying. "Bullshit." 

"Octavia!" Raven clambered down from the cockpit, sliding down the ladder with ease. She had unzipped her mechanic's uniform, streak with dark smudges, the arms tied around her waist. "What did you do?" 

"I merely supplied the jam. I just didn't ask about why they wanted the jam. Just what sort of jam they wanted." Octavia shrugged. "It wasn't like the jam was going to be useful. No one wanted it. It was just sitting in the stock room taking up space." 

Raven and Clarke exchanged looks. 

"What are they making you do?" 

"You mean, what is your mom making me do?" Octavia asked archly. "Eh, just to mop the jam up." 

"That's it?" Clarke's mother wasn't known to make light punishments. "Was she sick?" 

"I don't know, princess." 

Clarke felt a flutter of irritation surge in her mind. First it was Bellamy who started the whole, "princess" shtick and now everyone was calling her that. Just because her mother was on the Council didn't mean she was some princess. She didn't get any special treatment, in fact, the scrutiny was annoying as fuck. She couldn't join the medic core because there was doubt that she would be able to get it on her merit. Instead, she became a pilot. Neither of her parents were involved in piloting. 

It wasn't a terrible position. She worked hard, surely it was enough to distance herself from her mother. 

"Princess? Octavia? Really?" 

"Yeah. You do realize that you're the best right? Better than Bellamy? He's just jealous. I think being a princess just means everyone else has to bow down to you." Octavia smiled at the surprised look on Clarke's face. "He started it and I ended it. It's not a bad nickname. You gotta own it." 

Clarke felt herself smile at Octavia's words. "Thanks." 

"No worries. Just..uh..hide me when Bellamy comes around. I'm not going to sit through another one of his lectures." 

* * *

 

Clarke sighed as her thoughts were broken up by yet another rustle in the brush. This was the fifth time she stopped to take a break. While she may have worked out, she had never gone trekking through the wilderness, her feet getting caught by every root and hole. Her boots felt wet and her feet soggy. They were not suited for marching around. She was not suited for this. 

 At first it didn't seem too hard. Just put one foot in front of another. But each step grew slower and harder and then she was stopping. Her feet felt hot and she pulled off her boots to air her feet out. The boots were made for comfort not for walking. 

"Blisters." She poked the balls of her feet. "Fuck my life." 

Fuck her feet. 

Clearly she had miscalculated the distance between herself and the Mountain. It was much further than she realized. Its massive size made it look closer than it was.

"Commander Griffin." Her NAV lite up as a soft feminine voice spoke to her. "Are you functioning?" 

Clarke glanced at her wrist, letting out a small sigh of relief. "ALIE. I am fine. How are you?" 

"Functional. I restored 98% efficiency. However I am experiencing some complications. I have worked around these deficiencies. I will be fully operational in two hours." ALIE is an AI, created and uploaded onto the Ark. She bad been through years of modification and is integrated in every ship and device. She drives the cruiser during long missions and normally auto corrects the cruiser's orbit. 

"What happened? We were in orbit and then..." Clarke was pretty sure she had a heart attack when her consoles went black and she couldn't do anything but watch the planet's surface grow closer and larger every second. "Wait, did you just activate?" It had been two days. 

"Yes. I had to transfer files over to the NAV as I would have been unable to remain in the ship. It was a sudden jump, I had to reorganize data." 

"Good move." Her beautiful ship had been on fire for a while. "What files were you able to transfer over?" 

"I was unable to save any data that we collected while in orbit." ALIE said regretfully. "Which included our coordinates." 

Clarke said a very bad word. 

"Well, it's not like things could get worse." Clarke leaned against the tree trunk, wiggling her toes. 

"Commander Griffin, I have been told that saying those words invites danger." ALIE said neutrally. "I do not understand human phrases." 

Clarke raised an eyebrow even if the AI could not see her. 

"What is your current objective?" 

"Getting off this miserable planet." 

"Mission parameters?" 

"Climbing up a mountain to get to a set of satellite dishes, jury rigging the distress beacon and then waiting for the Ark to come pick me up."

"Does that include hostiles?" 

"Hostiles? Animals?" 

"Natives." 

"There are natives on this planet? Living beings?" 

"Prior to our plummet, I picked up a signal, an active signal." 

"Oh. Good. That's good. If we can get there, they might have a working communication system. I might not even have to climb this mountain." Clarke really didn't want to climb this god damn mountain. 

"Unfortunately, I was unable to pinpoint the location of the signal." 

 Clarke said a bad word. Again. 

"Your mother would not be pleased with your language usage." 

"My mother isn't here." Clarke pointed out. "She's probably noticed I hadn't contacted the Ark yet. Maybe they'll sent out a rescue team." 

Clarked pulled her socks back on, and then her boots, zipping up the sides. She got to her feet, grabbing her pack and shouldering it on. "ALIE, scan the immediate area. We can start to build a topographical map. The last thing I need is to fall into a ditch." 

"This area has a high level of vegetation."

"Noted."

"It is interfering with the scans. As is the radiation."

"...The what?"

"Radiation." ALIE continued on as if Clarke's high pitched response did not phase her. "This planet is inundated in radiation."

Clarke palmed her face. "That would have been helpful to have know." 

"I could not have anticipated our sudden landing." ALIE paused. "Besides, the radiation is not at levels that would effect your body. But if you do feel a slight tingling sensation, hair falling out in clumps, nausea or other symptoms of radiation poisoning it is advised you remove yourself from the source." 

"ALIE." 

"You will be fine. The other life form in your close vicinity may be a more immediate concern." 

What other-

Clarke turned, slowly, her hand resting on the butt of her pistol. There. Standing a few yards away was a man. Well, that would be a generous term. It was a male life form covered in...something. She couldn't see his eyes. Just the knife in his hand. And the low growling sound in his voice. He didn't seem to be looking at her, he may have been trying to smell her. 

"You should probably run." ALIE said in her ear, silencing the speakers and transmitting via her implants. "You scored under the average mean in marksmanship but above average in track." 

Fuck this planet. 

Clarke ran. 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke hated running. She absolutely despised it. You weren't actually going anywhere. It was a treadmill and some videos and it mimics running through a forest. But it was fake and no matter what they did, adding plants in a pot, it was not real. And they didn't need to run. They lived on ships for crying out loud. They flew through space. Planets were difficult to colonize and even then, it wasn't as if they had space to go anywhere. They lived in boxes and they died in boxes. 

But one day, Clarke had this wild idea about becoming a pilot. But pilots have to be physically fit. So, Clarke had to work out and run. 

It was days of misery and months of suffering. Even when she got really good at it, it helps to just blank her mind out and let her legs do all the work, Clarke hated it. 

Running in the forest, it was nice, the air was crisp and there wasn't much wind. 

Of course the terrain was rocky, slippery and there was a crazy person chasing her. Ah well, one can't have everything go their way. Clarke continued on, ignoring the pain of the blisters on her foot, and kept running. Her calves burned and her thighs throbbed as she ran up the hill thinking to herself, _why the fuck did I go uphill?_  

She must of ran for at least half a mile before the sound of pursuit faded away. 

Clarke leaned against a tree as she looked around, trying to see if she was being fucked with before letting out a sigh of relief. Her chest hurt. Her legs hurt. Running at a dead sprint uphill was not a joke. Her feet hurt. Instead of the dull throbbing pain, she had sharp pain that got sharper with increased pressure. 

"Are we safe?" 

"There are no humanoids within twenty feet of our location." ALIE replied helpfully. "Your vital signs are elevated. You should rest." 

"Thank you Beymax." 

"Was that sarcasm I detected?" 

"I don-" Clarke jerked her head to the west as she heard a scream. It sounded like a girl. Without really thinking about it, she began to make her way towards the sound. It was just this gut reaction, spurred by some visceral feeling deep in her belly. Thoughts blossom into her head and she stops. What was she doing? Going back into danger? And for what? Some sound that could probably be some animal. There were animals who could sound human.

But that guy also looked human.

Ish.

Hmmmm. 

Clarke doubled her steps, pulling her gun out and holding it before her. There was more noises, grunts and clanking noises. More clanging. Clarke crept forward, ignoring ALIE's chatter, peering past the brush. There was a clearing and in that clearing was people. People fighting. Well she couldn't really tell. Even with her 20/10 vision, they were moving so quickly she couldn't tell who was who. As in, who was the attacker and who was the defender. The two fighters separated suddenly and she could definitely tell who they were. 

It was the crazy guy but different crazy. Well, no, different guy. A male with darker skin and holding what looked to be a leg in one hand. Yep, definitely a human leg. In his other hand was this wicked looking knife. His opponent was a girl. 

Wait a second.

A young girl. She looked no more than 13 or 14 years of age, holding a bloody sword. Past them was another body. Must be crazy guy number one. This must be his friend, crazy guy number two. Hopefully they didn't have another friend. The girl didn't look like she would survive another go. There was blood all over her clothes and judging by the way she was breathing, she wasn't going to last another bout. 

Clarke made her decision quickly. 

As a pilot, she was taught how to make snap decision. She had to. When one's ship is making a nosedive and the engines are dead, you don't have time to ponder and wonder and think. 

You act. 

And you hope that it was the right thing to do.

She stepped out of the brush and fired her pistol. Unlike the energy rifles carried on the ship, these were gas powered and they fired metal slugs. Archaic but useful. 

Clarke missed. 

But it was all the girl needed, the split second moment of surprise and she buried her sword in the man's neck with a hefty swing. Blood sprayed everywhere. "Ugh." Clarke couldn't help it. No one likes to see blood all over the trees, the grass, the young kid who kind of looks more dangerous than crazy guy number two. It didn't help that she yanked her sword out, more blood came streaming out like some sick fountain, and stood there with this grim expression on her face. 

The body slid to the ground, limbs jerking spasmodically for a few seconds before all movement halted. 

She held the gun in trembling hands before holstering it, showing her empty hands. "Hi." Clarke said softly as if not to spook an animal. 

The girl stared at her. Her eyes darted from the gun to Clarke's face and back again. She had brown hair, and wore...it looked like a long sleeve t-shirt. Clarke narrowed her eyes. Well, she wasn't an anthropology specialist, that was Wells. Nor was she a diplomat of any kind. She was just a pilot. 

The native crumpled to the ground face first. 

"Oh shit. Oh shit." Clarke ran forward, walking around the body and then she knelt to the ground. 

She rolled the girl onto her back and checked quickly for wounds. The sword had fallen out of her fingers and Clarke pushed it away as she placed her other hand against the girl's neck to check for a pulse. Clarke breathed out a sigh of relief as she felt the steady heartbeat. Hands moved on autopilot as she did a quick physical assessment. Her mother had trained her for years before she decided to throw it all away. It all came back in a rush as her hands got covered in blood.

Nothing was excessively bleeding. There was blood but the majority of it did not look to be hers. No blood around the neck, armpits or inguinal region. She checked the airway, no broken teeth, nothing to stop air from coming down to her lungs. She felt the collar bones and the shoulder girdle, then the sternum. All were intact. The girl wore a  dark brown jacket, a heavy looking thing that was tied together with leather strips. She pulled the girl upright, noting her light weight, and got the jacket off quickly, watching the girl's face for any reaction. It came off quickly, it was much larger than the girl's frame, perhaps something she was meant to grown into. 

The patient wore a thin grey shirt underneath. She looked to be prepubescent. Even younger than Clarke had estimated. 

There was blood on the grey shirt, blood that the dark brown jacket hid when she did her initial sweep. Looked like a deep cut most likely from a blade. Clarke pulled her bag off and opened it. She dumped the contents onto the forest floor, hoping beyond hope, that she picked up a first aid kid. The white box with the red cross symbol stood out and she grabbed it. The trauma sheers came out first and she cut the shirt open to reveal the wound. It looked to be five to six inches long, from the underside of her ribs across her belly. It would need sutures. It didn't look deep enough to cause an evisceration, which was good, she didn't have any means to treat an evisceration. 

Next came the antiseptic. Lord knows what type of bacteria lurks about. Clarke half expected to go down with something terrible in a few days. Her body was not prepared for what germs lived on this planet. That or she becomes a carrier for a disease that wipes out her patient's people. 

Yay.

Clarke pushed those thoughts out of her head as she continued her treatment. She couldn't suture here. It wasn't safe. There were two dead bodies and who knows what else may be roaming around on this planet. She cleaned the wound the best she could be and then she got out some gauze. After she layered the gauze, then came the tape. She used the 3 inch tape to secure the gauze. Already blood was seeping through. She had to layer more gauze, 4x4's, and tape to secure it all down before she was sure that the blood wouldn't seep through. 

Next came the hips and legs. Nothing looked broken or felt broken. Patient was still breathing which was a good sign and she hadn't grown paler. Here she found the rest of the blood hidden by black fabric. She did find a few lacerations but they were merely distracting injuries and she moved on. She checked the arms. 

Clarke let out a tiny breath. 

Without any of the medical supplies on the Ark, she would be unable to tell for certain how deep the laceration went. The best thing to do was to pick her up and carry her to the nearest stream where she could wash the blood and dirt off before apply sutures. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her patient move. Clarke sat up, and watched as the girl's eyes fluttered open and met hers. 

"Hey." Clarke said softly in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "You're going to be okay." 

Her patient's eyes widened and she jolted upright, nearly cracking her skull against Clarke's face. She back peddled, one hand pressed against her stomach. For a second, a look of confusion crossed the girl's face as she felt, what was no doubt foreign to her, the gauze and bandage. 

"It's going to be alright." Clarke didn't move, attempting to look non threatening. "But I need to sew your laceration closed or you could aggravate it." 

She should have just drugged the girl.

The kid, must be at least 12 years old, looked frightened. Scared. Which didn't make sense. This kid took out two fully grown men and she was scared of Clarke? It didn't make sense. She remained crouched, one knee on the ground, her hands by her side. Standing would only scare the kid even more.

Clarke carefully took a half step forward. "I'm not going to hurt you. See? I'm a human, like you." She pulled her jacket off, letting it drop to the floor. 

It was only due to sharp observation that Clarke noticed the slight change on the girl's face. She didn't look so scared anymore. In fact, she was looking beh-

Clarke turned just in time to see something impact the side of her head. She hit the ground, her hands coming up to catch her. The blow knocked her silly. She tried to climb to her feet, one hand scrabbling for her gun while the other tried to find purchase on the ground. Someone hit her again and this time she didn't try to get up. Her vision spun and grayed. The edges were already turning black and she could barely hear the voices. 

Oh. She could talk thought Clarke slowly as her vision turned black. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medical junk

"She dies, you die." 

Clarke wasn't entirely sure what was going on. It wasn't that she wasn't observant, just, confused. Waking up bound to a tree with a woman staring at her was not what Clarke counted as a good morning. 

Her head throbbed where she was struck and she still had slight nausea. Clarke was sure she had a slight concussion but it was better than being dead. Her brains could have been scattered across the forest floor. She could have easily had a cracked skull. There were so many terrible things that could have happened to her. She could list all the ways she could die until her dying breath. 

Her captor or captors were all adults. Tall and foreboding with black painted faces. Their leader, a woman, had given out her ultimatum and then cut her bonds. 

Clarke was lead to a tent, one of those things she had seen in her textbooks, and inside was her patient. She looked better, her skin a rosey hue, and most importantly awake. Which might not be the best. 

"Hi." 

She could see the woman standing by the tent flap staring. 

"'Ello." The girl whispered back. 

"My name's Clarke." 

"Tris." 

Clarke walked over, spotting her bag sitting by the corner, she snagged it as she walked over. "Are you allergic to anything?" She asked, sliding into medic mode, pulling her suturing kit out. 

Tris just gave her a strange look. 

"Does your body react to food or plants." She pulls out the lidocaine tube and checks the expiration date. "Your throat closes up or your skin gets itchy?" 

These people probably have no idea what she was talking about. It was a small mercy they speak the same language. 

"No." It was that woman with the dirty blonde hair and sharp eyes who spoke. 

Clarke looks at her briefly over her shoulder, eyeing the sword strapped to her side and the hatchet on the other. Older than her by a decade at the very least. Tougher too. She turns her attention back to her patient. "I'm going to need you to lie down and take your shirt off." 

The shirt, upon further examination, is held together with laces on the front. The knots are undone and the shirt falls onto the makehift bed. Her bandages had been replaced by worn fabric but the wound was surprisingly clean. She checks for infection and is relieved to find none. Tris is quiet under her administrations making not a sound. What type of society has a child be so quiet? What society can make warriors out of children? 

Clarke's hands move methodically as she makes her assessment. 

She started at ten years old, her mother's specter, learning how to be a medic. Space was limited on the Ark and everyone had to be useful. Everyone needed to know a trade or some sort of skill. She started the pilot program at fourteen and finished it at sixteen, the youngest to ever finish the program. Didn't Octavia becomes one of the best fighters? Raven the youngest and best mechanic? Youth meant nothing. 

There was only the slightest intake of breath as she pierced the skin with the needle. 

The entire process took twenty minutes. 

Tris did not die. 

* * *

 

She was a prisoner that much was sure. She had sat through the lecture on the Ark. All pilots had to take it, just in case they met an alien and hostile force. She was isolated from everyone else and the only person she ever saw was Tris and that was to check her stitches. Her hands were bound and the rope was tied to the General's horse. It didn't help that no one spoke a language she understood. It was always the same person, the one they call General. 

Tall with sharp cheekbones she had a threatening presence. There was always this hint of violence in her posture. Or was it the threat of pain? 

She rode in front, like a prize, the General's hands holding the reins. 

Clarke was hopeless with horses. She hadn't even seen on in real life and now she had to ride them? Never had she felt so sore in her life. She practically fell off the horse. It wouldn't have mattered if she could work her legs, her captors just dragged her away and threw her into a cell. The door closed with a clang. Clarke lied there on the cool rock half tempted to pass out. She could just sleep right here.  

But she couldn't. Clarke sat up, hands in her lap. 

No. She'll sleep when she's dead. 

Her ancestors did not escape Earth for her to die on some unknown planet. She had to find a way out of here.

* * *

 

There was no way out. Clarke combed every inch of the room. It was decayed for better lack of the term. Old. A remnant of a lost people.

ALIE, her frequent companion, was silent. They were too far apart to communicate. If ALIE was still in one piece. For all she knows, they could have destroyed her. At least they didn't rip out Clarke's implant. Lucky the blow to her skull didn't crack her head open. 

After what seems like hours, the cell door opened and in stepped a tall man. A bear of a man with dark tattoos on his face. Behind him were two other men. And behind them?

A girl in dirty rags, hunched posture. Not a fighter.

The man in red spoke and the girl obeyed. She had dark long curly hair pinned down by a grey bandanna. Unlike the intricate clothes the men wore, she had drab clothing made of thinner material. The limp marked her as an invalid. Were fighters given preferential treatment? In a society that taught everyone how to fight, even girls, how would they treat those who cannot defend themselves? She didn't look underfed. Nor abused. Her face was clean, well mostly, and despite the state of her clothes they were not threadbare. Clarke didn't see any industrialization when she was in orbit, so it would make sense that the clothes they wore were handed down. The camp's equipment were not new but well taken cared of. With scarce resources, wasting anything would be tantamount to suicide. Clarke's mind whirled at the implication. A pre-industrialized civilization. Or a post-nuclear one.   

The pot in the girl's hands sloshed with each movement. All of a sudden Clarke could feel her stomach grumbling at her. When was the last time she had eaten? Or drank anything? 

The men left. 

All that were left was the girl and her. 

 

 


End file.
